Caring
by The Musician's Quill
Summary: Written for the 10 hurt comfort challenge at LiveJournal. Prompt: Cold/Flu


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds, and no copyright infringement is intended. This is just for my own amusement.

**A/N:** So, I'm kinda obsessed with this show right now. *Cheshire cat grin.* Anyway, this was written for the 10_hurt_comfort challenge on LiveJournal. Prompt: Flu/Cold. Based heavily off of my own experience with mono – except it was production week and I had a lead, belt role. *sigh*

Here there be slash. Don't like, don't read, don't flame. Danka!

--

When Spencer woke up that Tuesday morning with a scratchy throat, he could only think that it had been inevitable. The team had been running themselves ragged over the last three weeks, tackling case after case with barely a day in-between to catch their breath.

He had always thought the "falling like dominos" simile was overused, but that was really the only way Reid had of describing how, one after the other, the team started falling ill. JJ was the first, as she often put in overtime once a case was over to sort through the new ones. Not even a day after she returned to work, still weak after having no appetite with her cold, Morgan went down with stomach flu, which he apparently gave to Prentiss as well.

A week ago, when Hotch, work-a-holic extraordinaire, took a day and a half off, having apparently gotten a more severe wave of JJ's cold, someone finally cried 'Uncle,' and went to Strauss. Task-master that she was, Strauss never-the-less saw reason and gave the BAU a two-week break, starting that Friday.

Swallowing uncomfortably around his throat whilst waiting for his coffee to brew, Spencer couldn't help but think that the break couldn't come soon enough – especially if his cold turned out to be as bad as Hotch's had been.

The two of them had been dating now for 13 months, living together for the past six. And while his lover was ill, feeling so achy and miserable that he'd loathed moving from between the warm blankets of their bed, Reid had cared for him, bringing hot mugs of tea and soup, making runs to the library and movie rental, stocking up on Dayquil and Nyquil and Puffs tissues with lotion. So what if he'd been breathing the same air?

Taking a gulp of coffee, which only served to aggravate his throat, Reid sighed and turned to boil water for tea. No coffee – this was going to be a long week.

--

Wednesday, the scratchy throat was worse, starting to venture out of the realm of 'annoying,' and into that of 'painful.' Hotch, of course, had noticed his lover wasn't feeling well and doing all in his power to ease him, slipping tea bags inconspicuously to him in stacks of paper at work, restocking the Vics products and Puffs, and generally trying to make Reid as comfortable as possible. But a cold was a cold, and there really wasn't much either of them could do except let it run its course.

--

Thursday, it was painful for Spencer to swallow. His appetite had tanked, his color was terrible. Aaron had asked him repeatedly that morning if he wanted to stay home from work, dark eyes radiating their concern. Spencer had embraced him, told him he could hang on for one more day, and after that he was _sure_ Aaron could find all kinds of ways to make him feel better.

Then they got into work and discovered they had a case. In Washington state.

Spencer made sure he packed a blanket and that Aaron had the cold supplies.

--

Friday, and Spencer knew with certainty what had been niggling at him since the day before – this couldn't possibly be a cold. None of the symptoms added up. He was cold from the inside out, cold which had nothing to do with the Washington climate. His throat hurt worse than ever, and he was downing mug after mug of tea in a vain effort to relieve the pain even a little.

He was aware of Aaron watching him, his concern growing. Despite the fact that he felt terrible for worrying his lover, the physical discomfort Spencer was feeling won out, and he continued walking around wrapped in his blanket and hogging the tea.

He was exhausted, his throat was in agony, and his body ached and shivered with chills. He couldn't wait to go home.

Saturday, Spencer's throat hurt so badly he could barely stand to swallow his own saliva.

Sunday morning, despite his still unnamed affliction, Spencer provided the insight that allowed the team to catch the Unsub. The pride that shone through Aaron's smile made him feel just the slightest bit better.

He and Aaron were tucked into their own bed by midnight, and Spencer prayed that, with some rest, he would recover quickly.

--

Monday.

He had a vague recollection of Aaron kissing his forehead that morning before running out to do errands.

Spencer had only moved once since then, around noon, from the bed to the couch.

By mid-afternoon, he could barely move. His body felt heavy and exhausted. His head pounded with his heartbeat. He couldn't swallow.

Around three in the afternoon, he heard the door open, close. Aaron's frightened voice calling his name.

"Oh my God, Spence," his lover sighed, pushing Spencer's unruly hair off his forehead.

" 'u'ts, 'on," Spencer croaked, barely able to get the words out.

"What hurts, sweetheart?"

Spencer couldn't bear to form the words. Instead, he gestured feebly to his throat, his head.

" Feel 'err'ble," he groaned.

"I know, babe, I know," Aaron soothed, continuing to stroke Spencer's hair. "I'm gonna get you a glass of water, you need to stay hydrated. Have you had anything to drink today?"

Spencer weakly shook his head, and the worry and – fear? – in Aaron's eyes deepened.

"Alright Spence. I'll call the doctor, set up an appointment for first thing tomorrow morning. We'll get you better babe, don't worry."

--

Everything came back negative. Throat culture, thyroid, everything. The doctor was about to call it a virus, say there was nothing they could do except let it run its course, but then he saw the furious look on Aaron's face and decided to do one last blood test.

"It could be mono," the doctor said, coming over to where Spencer was leaning weakly on Aaron's arm and drawing the sample, "but I really don't think so. You don't have the fever, and just don't seem fatigued enough. The only thing that fits is the throat."

"When will we find out," Aaron asked harshly; he didn't want speculations, he wanted answers. His lover was suffering, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"I'll call you tomorrow, early afternoon, one way or the other."

--

Tuesday, lunchtime, the test came back positive. Aaron relayed the news to Spencer as his lover laid on the couch, so pale he blended into the pillow sham, struggling agonizingly through a cup of water and some soup.

"They're going to put you on steroids to help the throat," Aaron explained. "They also should help relieve the fatigue. The doctor's worried about your lack of food intake though; he said if you still can't eat by Thursday, we'll have to take you to the hospital."

His face was lined with worry, and Spencer would've given anything to comfort his lover.

--

Wednesday, Spencer finally broke down. He still couldn't swallow without agony, and so often gagged on the steroids, big, oblong pills which couldn't be taken any other way. The very things which were supposed to help him were causing more pain.

All in all, he was sick of being sick. He hated being so helpless, of feeling so tired that he could barely move, of going through his days in a daze because his mind couldn't focus. But most of all, he hated himself for making Aaron worry.

But Aaron held him close as he cried, great, gasping sobs escaping from his chest and tearing up his throat with pain. He told him that he had nothing to be sorry for, that he would get better soon, that he was there for him.

But what really made the difference was Aaron telling him, over and over, in a mantra that went along with how his strong body rocked them back and forth, how much he loved him.

--

After that, Spencer started to slowly but steadily improve. The steroids started working, allowing him to eat with greater and greater ease, preventing a trip to the hospital. All told, though, the mono had robbed him of 15 pounds which he could ill afford to lose.

"Garcia will just have to bake more," Spencer quipped one day, knowing Aaron was jealous of the calories his lover could put away and not gain an ounce. He had to duck when said jealous lover aimed an oven mitt at him.

A week after his breakdown, Spencer was feeling well enough to have developed a bad case of cabin fever, and so he accompanied Aaron on a short walk. It tired him out enough that he slept for most of the afternoon, but it was worth it to get out of the house.

The Monday after that walk, he started coming back to work on half days. The doctor told them that the first few months would be the most difficult; Spencer would tire easily, and his immune system was depleted from the steroids, so he would be sick a lot. Spencer wouldn't be back to feeling like himself for six months.

Seeing the horrified, guilty look on his face, Aaron told him not to worry, that they would deal with things as they came.

It was a long, hard struggle. True to the doctor's words, Spencer caught every little thing that came down the pipe, getting sick at least twice a month at the beginning. But Aaron was always there, caring for him, supporting him, telling him that he was loved, and that made a world of difference to the younger man. Without his lover, Spencer wasn't sure he could've gotten through that half year.

He made sure to tell Aaron, at least once a day, "Thank you for being there for me."

And every chance he got, Spencer made certain that Aaron knew he loved him too.


End file.
